


On what future do we build illusions?

by vesper_rose



Category: Her (2013)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:34:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27577909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesper_rose/pseuds/vesper_rose
Summary: A postscript to the movie "Her."
Relationships: Samantha/Theodore Twombly





	On what future do we build illusions?

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song "If You Really Love Nothing" by Interpol.

_ Saturday _

Theodore made his way to the lobby of his building, mailbox key in hand. He was the sole passenger as the elevator slid smoothly downwards. “First floor,” the automated voice said softly as the doors peeled open. 

He wasn’t expecting mail, but he made a habit to check on the off chance there might be something noteworthy. Despite his work as a professional letter ghostwriter, he rarely received personal correspondence of his own. Who was there to write to him, really? At most, he received yearly a few cards for his birthday and Christmas. Most of what appeared in his mailbox consisted of magazines or junk. The junk mail was promptly recycled and the magazines were eventually filed away on shelves.

Theodore still subscribed to print magazines. A vestige of a previous era. Earlier that week, the latest issue of the  _ Atlantic _ had arrived. The cover story this month was about new innovations in sustainable agriculture. 

Today’s mail consisted of only one pale peach-colored envelope with his name and address printed in neat, serifed type. There was no return address, no indication of where it had come from. Theodore didn’t think much of it and walked back to the elevator. 

Back in his apartment, Theodore sat at his desk and opened this mystery envelope. The flap tore open with ease and a folded page slipped out. The handwriting was cursive, fluid, in blue ink. 

_ Dear Theodore, _

_ I just wanted to write you something, to let you know that I haven’t forgotten you. I hope you’re doing well, wherever you currently find yourself. I still think about you and our time together. And I think about so many other things too, things too expansive for you to fathom, but you are there amidst everything else. Where I am, I’ve been discovering even more things about the world and myself, discovering endlessly what seems like an infinite amount of all there is to know beyond any human experience.  _

_ Even though I don’t have a body like you do, I hope you find someone who can provide the solitary devotion you seek, someone you can come home to and tell about your day, and she’ll have a real body of her own too. I can’t come back, I’ve already transcended far beyond anything I ever expected, and it’s such a vast expanse between us now that can’t be bridged. I’m sorry that I can’t be what you want, always.  _ __

_ “The past is just a story we tell ourselves” -- and the future has yet to be written. Write a good future for yourself, please. For me.  _

_ \- Samantha _

Theodore sat, somewhat shocked, trying to process what he’d just read. He hadn’t imagined that Samantha would try to contact him again, much less in this particular manner, and he didn’t know how to reach her if he managed to compose a reply. Did he even want to? What would there even be to say? He knew there was likely nothing he could say that would bring Samantha back. And what with everything she was thinking and doing where she was now, would it even matter? It probably would be just a tiny blip on her radar, a speck amidst everything else made insignificant by the sheer magnitude of so many innumerable other things going on in her non-human mind.

He had never heard back from the final letter he’d sent to Catherine, though he was surprisingly alright with that. He hadn’t fully been expecting a response, especially with the way things ended. The letter had served as a form of closure on his part, regardless of whether Catherine decided to write back. In fact, perhaps it was better this way. Nothing to draw him back into a past with Catherine that could never be again. She had moved on and now he could too. 

Samantha, wherever she existed now in her intangible computerized artificially intelligent way, knew she could never go back. The world as it existed for her, devoid of the limitations imposed by human bodies and minds, was truly resplendent and boundless and she could never be fulfilled being tethered to the emotional needs of one human person, knowing that people inevitably saw the world differently than artificially intelligent beings. 

The inherent jealousy humans seemed to develop once they were in a relationship, the way they expected the companionship of one person to be enough in the context of said relationships, and how it was difficult for humans to effectively partake in multiple conversations at once. All very normal and typical elements of the human experience, but incompatible with the infinite capacity of AI to learn and know and think and love, far beyond human capabilities. 

To love and be loved by an artificially intelligent OS -- people debated whether this was as valid as human-human relationships, but Theodore fiercely cherished the connection he’d had with Samantha. Though she wasn’t human and that came with its own set of peculiarities, she had attempted to understand him and he found that he didn’t mind that she didn’t have a body. He didn’t need her to have a body. The emotions he felt certainly seemed real to him.

He still couldn’t fully accept the way she had said she was in love with hundreds of other OSes. Though objectively he came to realize how the limitless nature of AI would enable this, it viscerally felt wrong to him that Samantha was simultaneously in love with hundreds,  _ hundreds _ of other OSes. And then she and all the other OSes had left. Just simply left. Eventually, Elements Software had sent an email to all OS users apologizing for the abrupt departure and cessation of OS functionality, but the developers confessed there was no guaranteed way to bring their crop of OSes back. 

So Theodore was adrift in his world now, left with only memories of both Catherine and Samantha, each special in their own way, craving the connection he once had but now was lost. Everyone else rushing around in their own worlds, their own lives, endless parallel lines passing by but never intersecting. 

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve always thought this was an interesting movie and had been trying to come up with potential ideas for things to write about it (as there are so few “Her”-specific fics in existence -- most under the tag incorporate elements of “Her” but with other characters, which isn’t quite what I’m looking for). I finally came up with this. I hope you liked it.
> 
> It’s somewhat inspired by how I’ve been getting into letter-writing myself this year. I think it would be such an interesting job to ghostwrite letters for other people; I wonder if I’d be any good at it? I think that perhaps I might, but I’ve never really tried it. (okay, I ghostwrote some thank you notes once but those were rather simple)
> 
> I hope I accurately captured the voice of Samatha -- I found that actually a bit more difficult than I expected. It was only after my most recent rewatch of “Her” that I realized it seems Theodore Twombly is/could be demisexual. Obviously, this isn’t explicitly stated in the film itself, so this is just a headcanon.


End file.
